"This bitter cup, let it pass from me,"
He cried, in a plaintive voice;
"Yet not My will, but Thine be done,"
He said, in His faithful choice.

The Judas kiss would seal his fate,
He faced a hostile crowd;
The governor, Pilate, saw through it all,
Jesus’ guilt he disavowed.

"I wash my hands of all of this,"
Said Pilate, "Let Him be;"
But the crowd yelled "Crucify him now,
And set Barabbas free!"

Pilate yielded to their wish,
And Jesus was led away;
The soldiers beat him and mocked Him, too,
Yet He continued to obey.

A crown of thorns lay on His head,
As His sentence was carried out;
His hands and feet were pierced with nails,
But He did not scream or shout.

"Father, forgive them for this crime,
They know not what they do;"
He said this despite His torment because,
He was thinking of me and you.

"It is finished," he sighed in His anguish and pain,
As His body gave up to death;
The curtain tore, and darkness fell,
After He took His last breath.

The best of the story is the very last part,
It’s why on Easter we’re filled with pleasure;
Death could not our Savior hold,
His power is beyond all measure.

He rose from the grave and was seen all around,
Ever since, He’s inspired devotion;
And we’ll be with Him for eternity,
When we get our heavenly promotion.